Panic 1918
by End of Doubt
Summary: The year is 1918 in Chicago, and Isabella Swan has been friends with Edward Masen since forever. But when the terror of the Spanish Influenza grips the city, will their friendship survive, or will it develop into something more? -B x E- -AU- -All Human-
1. Author's Note

Author's Note

**Author's Note**

Panic 1918 is an alternate universe, Twilight themed, all human story set in 1918, the year of the flu epidemic that wiped out most of Chicago. I have tried my best to keep characters actions within the time period: including their style of dress, speech, as well as outside historical events that affect their lives. However, living in 2008, it is sometimes difficult for me to be perfectly consistent to the time period. Feel free to point out any errors.

I have also taken artistic liberties with Bella's personality, as well as the relationship between Bella and Edward. If you fear that Bella is completely off base (though she is not perfectly in tune with the Bella in the books), feel free to comment. I have also tweaked Edward's personality slightly; as he is not a vampire, he would possess none of the insecurities about being a vampire.

Many of the characters from the books will appear in different forms, but their personalities will remain true to the books. Some characters may not appear at all; keep in mind that 1918 is the year Edward was changed into a vampire, so Alice may or may not be present in the storyline.

Thank you, and please read and review!

-End of Doubt


	2. Confusion

1918

1918

"Isabella Marie Swan."

I rolled over sleepily, covering my ears as I dug my face further into my down pillow, hoping that my lack of movement would convince my mother Renée to have mercy and allow me to sleep for ten more minutes.

"Renée… just… give me five more minutes please! Five more!"

"Bella," the voice called from below, more impatient this time, "It's me, wake up!" The voice's impatience was followed up with a few carefully arced rocks that made a tapping noise against my window, and I stood up wearily, fumbling around for my old dressing gown.

"Hurry up! You sleep like a rock." I stood over my window gingerly, barely clad in my dressing gown, and with a grin, recognized the figure standing under the windowsill, wearing a distinctly disgruntled expression. It was my best friend, Edward Masen, still dressed in the cap and jacket that made up his work uniform.

"I'll take my sweet time thanks," I smirked, shrinking away from Edward's next volley of rocks against my window. Deciding that it would be too rude to keep him waiting like the last time we had snuck out, I gingerly slid out of my windowsill and fell the five or so feet to the ground, landing awkwardly in the process.

"Took you long enough; my rock supply was _depreciating_."

I rolled my eyes-- Edward's vocabulary made me sick at times. It was unfair how he could read much faster than me, and it was even more unfair that he could remember it all.

"And speaking of rocks," he continued, green eyes twinkling slightly in the darkness, "I'm debating whether or not I should be offended that you thought I was a woman. Especially a woman like your mother." His nose wrinkled in pretend distaste.

"You should be," My grin grew wider, "In fact, I'm surprised that no one has told you so. You do remember that phase when you used to dress in my clothes?"

"We were FIVE--"

"You were six," I pointed out, ignoring Edward's protests that there was really no difference between five and six, because he was right. As usual, and in my usual custom, I was too stubborn to admit it. I strode ahead, growing weary of trying to banter with Edward, and in my haste, I tripped over a tree branch, and into a pair of arms.

"I knew I would have to do that at least once tonight!" His triumphant laughter rang throughout the clearing we were walking through.

"Well good for you," I grumbled sarcastically, "I should fall more often so that you would have to catch me."

"I wouldn't have a problem with that."

I laughed awkwardly, looking sideways to make sure that he was teasing. His expression was intense, his eyes smoldering, and I blushed suddenly, feeling uncomfortable under his searching gaze. My discomfort changed to irritation when he continued looking me directly in the face, and I broke the staring contest with an annoyed shake of my head.

"Stop looking at me like that Edward," I crossed my arms protectively over my thin dressing gown to ward off the shivers. "You're trying to read me! You know I loathe when you do that!"

Edward closed his eyes and snorted. "Looking at someone in the face is not a capital crime."

"Y-You had an odd look," I pointed out, feeling rather foolish as his eyebrows rose nearly into his hairline, his eyes still closed with a slight frown on his face. Something about his gaze had changed from when we were ten, and I didn't like it. I had never been one for change; I had sobbed uncontrollably when my mother had thrown away my ratty old blanket, and I still slept in my old, too small room, even though I had been repeatedly offered the old master bedroom.

"Bella, you're being absolutely absurd." He shrugged at my indignation and quickened his pace, forcing my legs to match strides with his 6' 2" frame. "I promise never to look you in the face again if that's what you want."

His pale face broke into a crooked smile and I sighed; it was hard for me to be angry with Edward for very long. At any rate, it was hard to be angry at someone who had seventeen years of blackmail under his belt, along with a penchant for doling it out at the worst possible times.

"Well, good," I insisted stubbornly. "I always knew my face was hideous."

"It's not," Edward replied shortly as he sat down on the grass, growing exasperated at my disgruntled expression. "You have the most beautiful and striking face in the entire world—"

A smack sound echoed throughout the grassy meadow as I leaned down to hit Edward's forearm lightly.

"I despise all compliments, especially false ones."

"Well, stop begging for them then." I could hear the laughter in his voice, and I swiped again playfully, not surprised when I missed his forearm. Not only was I terribly uncoordinated, it didn't help matters that Edward had fast reflexes from dodging my swipes throughout the years.

"I don't beg for—well, I guess I do sometimes." I blushed immediately after the statement, feeling more than a bit foolish, as I clutched my dressing gown tighter to my chest instinctively.

"I told you, Bella, you are utterly absurd."

Edward dodged my third attempt at a slap just as easily as the second, and he grabbed my wrist quickly, dragging me down next to him in the soft grass, ignoring my pretend protests. I moved to rise, but he grabbed my wrist again, a teasing smile on his lips as his eyes met mine.

"Stay," he announced in a mock stern voice.

"Stay _please_," I retorted, falling into my habit of stubbornness.

"Fine. Stay _please_. Happy now?"

"Very." I moved closer to him, resting my head on my favorite spot on his shoulder like I had when we were little. He stiffened slightly under my touch, and I raised my head to look at him questioningly.

"Anything wrong?"

"Not really, I am quite used to being your pillow, considering I have seventeen years of practice."

I grinned sheepishly at him, a slight blush coloring my cheeks. "Well, I apologize."

"No really, I'm used to it." The crooked smile emerged. "Besides, you'll fall asleep on me regardless of what I say or do."

"True," I admitted, my blush deepening.

Edward gestured to his shoulder again impatiently, and I wearily placed my head upon it without another sound, drawing my body closer to his in the process. He stirred slightly, readjusting to accommodate my new position and tucked my head under his chin; I could feel the fluttering beat of his heart, I could feel the warmth of his skin…. it felt unbearably private, and not utterly platonic.

I stiffened at the thought, and extricated myself from his relaxed grip.

"I err… have to go home."

Turning before I could see his bound to be bewildered expression, I quickly got to my feet and began to shuffle home, wishing that I had decided to dress in something more substantial than a dressing gown. The leaves crunched as he too rose from the ground, the grass rustling as he caught up to me in a few short strides of his long legs.

"Are you feeling well Bella?" he asked, the concern evident in his silky voice.

"I'm fine," I replied in a monotone, feeling the waves of confusion radiate off him as I continued to walk quickly up the path, in a feeble attempt to escape my own paranoia.

My best friend broke into a jog now, easily overtaking me. His concerned green eyes bored into mine as he grabbed me by my shoulders. I shook him off, my annoyance growing to almost a boiling point; his utter bewilderment was doing most of the work for me considering Edward normally possessed a vice-grip.

I side-stepped him too quickly to view the brief look of disappointment flash across his face.

"Will I see you tomorrow then?"

The hurt coloring his voice was nearly invisible, but I heard it, and I nearly turned back from shame: shame from giving into paranoia, shame from shading our friendship into the twisted colors of my mind, but most of all shame from the realization that I could no longer grip my world in my tight fist.

It was too much to bear, and my response was too soft to hear over the ever insistent pulse of my heart.


	3. Vanity

He hadn't come

He hadn't come.

My fingers twisted and tangled over my needlework, my mind too focused on the whereabouts of my best friend to execute the complex whale bone stitch properly. My groaning almost turned to cursing when I pricked myself for the fifth time in that hour alone.

"Bella." I could hear my mother's melodic voice behind me, and my about-to-curse mouth slammed shut.

Raising her eyebrows slightly at my suddenly garbled greeting, my mother lifted the comforting weight of my sampler from my lap, brushing my dark hair from my face with her still elegant, calloused fingers. I scowled and batted the intrusive fingers away, slightly peeved at my mother who knew I despised others touching my hair. Only my father was allowed to touch my hair, and… he wasn't around to do the job. Renée was only fooling herself if she thought she could take his place.

"Mother, please stop," I said snappishly, looking upward to convey my irritation.

My irritation quickly faded as Renée Swan's tired eyes met mine, and my brown eyes suddenly burned with a sense of guilt. My mother had never been the same in the three years since the death of my father, the numbing start of acceptance that I had started to feel eluding her entirely. She of course had tried to forget, attempting to absolve her mind of the parades, the cheers, and the praise culminating in the pitying looks of two corporals on a gray Sunday morning.

We had missed Mass that day, and we hadn't missed one since.

She smiled wanly at me as I studied her too thin form; Renée Gilbert once had been a great vivacious beauty, capable of winning hearts and minds alike with a single phrase. But now… three jobs, little food, and the stress of raising a teenage daughter had taken their toll. Renée was only a dry shell of her former self, and I couldn't help but close my eyes quickly to block out the sight.

"Your needlework is atrocious," she commented, biting her lip to hide a rare smile. Her eyebrows shot up slightly as she gently raised my sampler to the light, the horrid stitching becoming even more prominent.

"Tell me Bells," her voice was lighter now as she used my childhood nickname, "Why exactly are you embroidering an E on your sampler? I was almost positive that a crown should have been cross stitched here."

My hand shot out quickly, but Renée swiftly raised the object of my attempted grab out of my reach.

"Are you and Edward in a fight perhaps?"

A slapping noise reverberated about the room as my hand fell limp and smacked against my lap. Renée had an uncanny knack for pinpointing problems, even though she was woefully scatterbrained about everything else.

"Err... no?" My voice sounded utterly unconvincing and my mother's eyebrows rose even higher.

"Well… not a fight exactly, more… it's hard to explain actually."

"Try me."

My face blushed slightly crimson as the events of the night before replayed themselves in my head, closing my throat as I tried to speak.

"Err... well, so what happened, err..," I swallowed gingerly, "I mucked it up! I just couldn't handle it, so I left for no reason at all, and now it's two fifteen, and Edward _always_ comes here at two for our carriage ride to church at three, and he's not here, so he's not coming—and I don't know what to do."

To my utter surprise, my mother smiled the irritating smile that only appeared if she pinpointed something especially relevant.

"Well…," she paused, choosing her words especially carefully, "Sometimes things change… when you grow older… feelings you might have, turn into something more."

"They don't always!" My voice sounded shrill, even to my own ears, and Renée visibly recoiled. "Just because Edward and I have been friends for a while doesn't mean that we're betrothed or anything. Why does everyone assume marriage? It's nothing, and it will never be anything!"

"I won't ever give you advice then, if that's how you take it." Her voice was barely above a whisper; I could see her hurt expression in profile, and my heart sank as my mother rose tiredly. But as she rose, I rose as well, stepping in front of the doorway to block her exit.

"Mom, you know I really didn't mean it like that."

"I have to go," she replied shortly, gently pushing me to the side so she could pass.

"But… your shift starts at four!" I responded rather weakly, my stomach twisting in guilt.

No response to my comment came as the door slammed behind her, and I placed my head in my hands. Who knew that I, Isabella Marie Swan, could hurt so many people in a short span of time? Was I utterly unpleasant, unlikeable even? At the rate I was alienating people, I was going to be the most hated person in all of Chicago, and if I kept up with my nastiness, the whole world hating me was definitely not out of the question. My head sunk lower into my hands as an overwhelming sense of self-pity came over me; I had no friends, my mother disliked me, and the oak door was reverberating with the sound of the knocker.

"Go away! Stop bothering me!" My desperation and self-pity combined to make my voice louder and harsher. My shouts could probably be heard down the street, but I was too peeved to feel my usual surge of embarrassment at my more outrageous antics.

The knocker sounded again.

"Get the hell away from my door," I snarled, wanting nothing more for this impertinent person to leave so I could drown in self-pity in peace.

"I am not leaving until you get out here Isabella Marie Swan. I will sleep on your doorstep," an all too familiar voice threatened in a dangerously low tone.

I couldn't open the door fast enough.

"You have a really shoddy way of greeting visitors," Edward greeted me on the doorstep derisively, his eyes hard.

"Well, you have a shoddy way of bothering people who don't want to bothered," I spat back, my temper firing irrationally at his fighting words.

"Fine. I was going to apologize, but now I'm not so sure, considering it was a sacrifice for you to let me in the _doorway_." He turned to leave, pale hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Fine then, leave!" I shouted; something about Edward always triggered my irrational feelings. "Leave, because I'm an idiot who doesn't deserve your friendship; go find someone better like Tanya for instance. Just go like Renèe, I don't deserve either of you—"

It was humiliating enough for me to shouting, but the feeling of rejection forced hot tears to stream down my cheeks; the tears solidified the fact that I was a very confused emotional teenage girl. I hadn't cried in years, so at the sound of my sniffling, Edward turned back, looking positively alarmed.

"Are you crying?" He took a tentative step towards my bound to be bloated face.

"N-No." The quaver in my voice betrayed me, and I hurriedly brushed the utterly humiliating tears from my face. "Just go find Tanya and live happily forever as best friends."

I felt Edward sit next to me. "Bella, I'm not leaving," he said patiently, all traces of his former fury gone; I could see him grinning widely now. "Stop blubbering."

"And I don't like Tanya; she's a bit of a ninny," he added, his grin wider now.

"But she's pretty," I mumbled, my insecurities about Edward ignoring me to court a pretty girl starting to show.

His green eyes stared straight ahead, and I heard an exasperated sigh. "I told you, she is a complete ninny."

"Besides," Edward was smirking now, "I prefer brunettes."

I laughed a watery chuckle until I realized that I in fact was a brunette, and then my chuckle lapsed into awkward silence. It was pitiful how sensitive I was now to mention of anything that wasn't completely platonic; it seemed as if overnight I had turned into an over-analytical ninny.

My roving eyes fixated on the crumpled daises now strewn on the steps below our feet.

"So… why daises?" I asked, attempting to break the awkward silence.

"Let's see… you've only told me so every day since we were eight." He put on a high falsetto. "Oh Edward, aren't these flowers wonderful? When I'm rich, I am going to fill all my drawing rooms with only the highest quality dasie—"

"Oh be quiet." I held back a grin, too grateful to really be angry at him, but his eyes looked only concerned.

"I was only joking—I don't mind you talking about daises honestly."

"Edward, I _know_ you were joking. I thought I had a sense of humor when I last checked."

His eyes stared deep into mine, and I flinched, turning away. "I really wish I could know what you are thinking."

"So do I sometimes," I joked, eliciting a small smile from Edward.

"You _can_ be quite deranged on occasion."

"Not as deranged as your queer posse," I shot back, giggling slightly at the look of irritation on his face. "Those girls practically stalk you. Did you not see Tanya hiding behind a bookshelf last week?"

Edward's eyes hardened slightly, but I pressed on eagerly, greedily trying to bash the pretty blonde girl at the center of my insecurities.

"I'm glad they didn't see that face Edward Anthony Mason—those poor girls would be utterly heartbroken. Who knew you would grow up into such a heartbreaker?" My grin peeked through my attempt at a blank façade.

"Don't worry my sweet, very jealous Bella," My amused snort cut through the pause, as Edward attempted to bat his eyelashes. "You are and will always be the _only_ fair maiden in my life."

An odd shiver ran up my spine as we made eye contact, and I hurriedly opened my mouth to end the slight pause.

"Besides your mother."

"Yes, besides my mother—who, in fact, is going to tan my hide if I am late to church."

"Do you have to go? Because if you go, then I have to go, and when I go I always assume the job of Edward's watchdog against his posse." I shuddered slightly at my whiny voice.

"You know how much I relish that job," I added sarcastically as an afterthought.

"Really Bella," Edward said in earnest as he started toward the door, "You should be thrilled to be my watchdog—I know Tanya would be."

"Well, she's the only one," I shot back.

"I'm sure you'll be begging to be my watchdog eventually Bella." He dodged the pillow aimed at his head. "Give it two months, maybe three, and you will come crawling back—"

I attacked again, laughing, and Edward was forced to take refuge behind a table. After making sure that I was out of ammunition, his face appeared over the top of the table.

"You do realize that church is in twenty minutes? We should go now."

"But… I'm not dressed," I explained. Edward snorted, and I hurriedly amended, blushing furiously, "In church clothes. I'm not dressed in church clothes."

"I think you look fine; you look good in most things," Edward complimented offhandedly, but I was too busy fretting about the state of a certain blonde potential friend-stealer to take any heed.

"I'll be back down in five minutes," I promised, ignoring a grumbling about lateness Edward as I rushed up the stairs to the makeshift powder room. Impulsively passing over my boring frocks that I wore to nearly every Mass, I snatched my new ice blue frock, struggling to pull it over my exceptionally constricting corset. At last I succeeded, though I was almost positive that a rib had been broken in the process, and I shocked myself once again by pinning back my stick straight hair with a delicate blue comb.

"I'm ready," I trilled as I bustled down the stairs, feeling ridiculously shallow and hypocritical in my suddenly fashionable attire. A slight blush colored my cheeks when I replayed in my mind all the times I had called the girls who dressed up "ninnies" or "blockheads", and the blush intensified as I realized that I was one of them now.

Edward's face froze slightly when I came into view, and my heart immediately sank.

"Does it look that bad?" I asked timidly. "I don't want to look to look like a ninny."

But as fast as it had come, Edward's frozen expression melted into a crooked smile.

"Nice dress."


End file.
